


I Want to Love You (So Let Me in Your Heart)

by BananaChef



Series: Missed Smutportunities [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apologies, Belligerent Use of Em Dashes, Blushing, Book 3: A Storm of Swords, Brienne and Jaime can both be very distracting, Canon Dialogue, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, IT'S STILL TUESDAY HERE, Jaime Lannister Needs a Hug, Love Confessions, Mentions of Other ASoIaF Characters, Miscommunication, Oathkeeper (ASoIaF), Oaths & Vows, Oral Sex, POV Brienne of Tarth, References to Canon, Romance, Scars, Table Sex, Table Sex Tuesday, Trust Issues, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and commas, and then eventually it deviates, but we don't blame them, heehee, oathbreaking to fuck your soulmate is the best reason, re: Brienne, re: their fight in Jaime III and when he saved her from the bear, some of it is changed or i added on to it, true love: geeking out over a valyrian steel sword, we stan Septa Donyse in this house, you get it jamlan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaChef/pseuds/BananaChef
Summary: Without Ser Loras in the room, there was no buffer between her and Ser Jaime. Brienne wasn’t sure if this was fortunate or unfortunate, but all thoughts left her mind when Jaime spoke. “Blue is a good color on you, my lady. It goes well with your eyes.”She flushed, too-large fingers fluttering around each other like wounded birds as she looked down at her dress. “Septa Donyse padded out the bodice, to give it that shape,” she told him, unsure how to respond to such a marvelous compliment. No one ever talked about her with such reverence, let alone someone like Jaime. Brienne almost stepped toward him but stopped herself. “You look…”“Different?” Jaime managed a small smile as he turned his gaze to the floor for a moment, his stump going to rest on the table. “More meat on the ribs and fewer lice in my hair, that’s all. The stump’s the same.” He took a small breath one would only notice if they were paying very close attention to his mannerisms. “Close the door and come here.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Missed Smutportunities [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840402
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	I Want to Love You (So Let Me in Your Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> I think I started writing this like two weeks ago for TST but then this ended up taking _much_ longer than expected.
> 
> Originally, I tried to avoid having Jaime completely confront his relationship with Cersei since he’s not ready to at that point in the books (and it seemed kind of complicated) but I had to do something with it so yeah, just go with it, please.

Without Ser Loras in the room, there was no buffer between her and Ser Jaime. Brienne wasn’t sure if this was fortunate or unfortunate, but all thoughts left her mind when Jaime spoke. “Blue is a good color on you, my lady. It goes well with your eyes.”

She flushed, too-large fingers fluttering around each other like wounded birds as she looked down at her dress. “Septa Donyse padded out the bodice, to give it that shape,” she told him, unsure how to respond to such a marvelous compliment. No one ever talked about her with such reverence, let alone someone like Jaime. Brienne almost stepped toward him but stopped herself. “You look...”

“Different?” Jaime managed a small smile as he turned his gaze to the floor for a moment, his stump going to rest on the table. “More meat on the ribs and fewer lice in my hair, that’s all. The stump’s the same.” He took a small breath one would only notice if they were paying very close attention to his mannerisms. “Close the door and come here.”

Brienne wondered what Jaime had to say to her that required such privacy, but she did as she was bid, relieved to not have to navigate when to make eye contact, even if it was only for a moment or so. She turned back to Jaime and walked a few steps closer to him. _His eyes are an astonishing green,_ she observed. “The white cloak...” she started after a moment of silence, gazing into his eyes.

“...is new, but I’m sure I’ll soil it soon enough.” He wasn’t looking at her, but forlornly at his stump.

“That wasn’t... I was about to say that it becomes you,” Brienne managed, before taking another hesitant step toward him. Jaime looked up at her, swallowing thickly. “Jaime, did you mean what you told Ser Loras? About...about King Renly, and the shadow?”

He shrugged, looking away from her with something akin to guilt. “I would have killed Renly myself if we’d met in battle, what do I care who cut his throat?”

She took another step closer, brows furrowing. “You said I had honor...”

“I’m the bloody Kingslayer, remember? When I say you have honor, that’s like a whore vouchsafing your maidenhood.” Jaime’s words hurt more than they had any right to; he was correct after all—no one would simply believe that she had honor by virtue of Jaime Lannister’s praise, though they may act like it.

“Not to me,” Brienne said quietly, and his head shot up, the same reverential gaze from before blazing in his eyes. She faltered for a moment before continuing. “When you say I have honor...” She swallowed, looking away for a second or two before steeling her resolve. “When you say I have honor, it means that I have honor, regardless of people’s opinions of you. I know you have honor too, I’ve seen it.”

His jaw worked for a short, silent while, his piercing green eyes never leaving hers for even a second. His stump moved a fraction on the table before he clenched his hand in a fist and relaxed it. “Steelshanks is on his way back north, to deliver Arya Stark to Roose Bolton.”

The atmosphere of the room changed in an instant. “You gave her to _him?_ ” she cried in dismay. “You swore an oath to Lady Catelyn—”

“With a sword at my throat— _your_ sword, if I recall correctly,” Jaime shot back with derision. “But never mind. Lady Catelyn’s dead. I could not give her back her daughters even if I had them. And the girl my father sent with Steelshanks was not Arya Stark.”

“ _Not_ Arya Stark?” Brienne wished he would have started with that and avoided conflict between them, and sighed heavily, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You heard me. My lord father found some skinny northern girl more or less the same age with more or less the same coloring. He dressed her up in white and grey, gave her a silver wolf to pin her cloak, and sent her off to wed Bolton’s bastard.” Jaime gestured to her with his stump. “I thought I should let you know before you attempted to go galloping after her and ended up dead. You’re good with a sword—I’ll grant you that—but good swordsmanship won’t save you from two hundred men.”

She shook her head, tucking some loose strands of her pale blonde hair behind her ear. “When Lord Bolton learns that your father paid him with false coin...”

“Oh, he knows. _Lannisters lie,_ remember? It makes no matter, this girl serves his purpose just as well. Who is going to say it _isn’t_ Arya Stark? Everyone the girl was close to is dead except for her sister, who has disappeared.”

Brienne’s expression softened. “Why would you tell me all this, if it’s true? You are betraying your father’s secrets.” She studied his face, waiting for him to respond.

“I pay my debts like every good little lion,” Jaime replied somewhat sarcastically. “I did promise Lady Stark her daughters...and one of them is still alive. My brother may know where she is, but if so he isn’t saying. Cersei is convinced that Sansa helped him murder Joffrey.”

Brienne firmed her lips into a hard line. “I will not believe that gentle girl a poisoner. Lady Catelyn said that she had a loving heart. It was your brother. There was a trial, Ser Loras said.”

“Two trials, actually. Words and swords both failed him. A bloody mess. Did you watch from the window?”

“My cell faces the sea. I heard shouting though.”

Jaime wore a faint look of contempt on his face. “Prince Oberyn of Dorne is dead, Ser Gregor Clegane lies dying, and Tyrion stands condemned before the eyes of gods and men. They’re keeping him in a black cell until they kill him.”

“You do not believe he did it,” Brienne pieced together, no judgment in her voice.

He gave her a strained smile. “See, wench? We know each other too well. Tyrion’s wanted to be me since he took his first step, but he’d never follow me in kingslaying. Sansa Stark killed Joffrey. My brother’s kept silent to protect her. He gets these fits of gallantry from time to time. The last one cost him a nose. This time it will mean his head.”

“No,” she found herself saying, brows furrowed yet again. “It was not my lady’s daughter. It could not have been her.”

“There’s the stupid stubborn wench that I remember.”

Now she was frustrated as she blushed. “My name is—”

“—Brienne of Tarth.” Jaime sighed, seeming to age several years in a single moment. Suddenly arguing over Joffrey’s murderer seemed a triviality; he was dead, and Tyrion’s fate was sealed. “I have a gift for you.” He reached under the Lord Commander’s chair and brought out something wrapped in folds of crimson velvet.

Brienne approached hesitantly, reaching out to the velvet and flipping away the cloth to reveal a sword in a sheath decorated with glittering rubies. She curled her fingers around the leather grip, gently sliding the sword out. Red and black ripples shone in the light as a red shine ran down the edge. “Is this Valyrian steel? I have never seen such colors.”

Twin gazes appraised the fine blade. “Nor I. There was a time that I would have given up my right hand to wield a sword like that. Now it appears I have, so the blade is wasted on me. Take it.” Brienne opened her mouth to protest, but Jaime continued before she had the chance to say anything. “A sword so fine must bear a name.” He looked into her eyes. “It would please me if you called this one Oathkeeper. One more thing. The blade comes with a price.”

She frowned, her whole face darkening at his words. “I told you, I will never serve...”

“...such foul creatures like us. Yes, I recall. Hear me out, Brienne.” He stood in front of her, only a few steps away. “Both of us swore oaths concerning Sansa Stark. Cersei means to see that the girl is found and killed, wherever she has gone to ground.”

Brienne scowled at him, Oathkeeper pointing to the ground and gripped in her sword hand, her other balled into a fist. “If you believe that I would harm my lady’s daughter for a _sword,_ you—”

 _“Just listen!”_ Jaime snapped, and Brienne silenced herself. _Perhaps I was too harsh in judging him._ “I want you to find Sansa first, and get her somewhere safe. How else are the two of us going to make good on our stupid vows to your precious dead Lady Catelyn?”

She was stuck between frustration, hurt, and anger; her emotions flew across her face for a moment, no more, before she spoke. “I...I thought...”

“I know what you _thought,_ ” he said, raising himself to his full height in defiance. “When Ned Stark died, his greatsword was given to the King’s Justice. But my father felt that such a fine blade was wasted on a mere headsman. He gave Ser Ilyn a new sword and had Ice melted down and reforged. There was enough metal for two new blades. You’re holding one. So you’ll be defending Ned Stark’s daughter with Ned Stark’s steel, if that makes any difference to you.”

Brienne swallowed heavily, examining Oathkeeper again before looking up at Jaime, an almost imperceptible sheen of tears in her eyes. “Ser, I...I owe you an apolo—”

He cut her off. “Take the bloody sword and go, before I change my mind. There’s a bay mare in the stables, as homely as you are but somewhat better trained. Chase after Steelshanks, search for Sansa, or ride home to your isle of sapphires, it’s naught to me.”

“Jaime—”

 _“Kingslayer,”_ he reminded her sharply. “Best use that sword to clean the wax out of your ears, wench. We’re done.”

 _No, we’re not,_ Brienne thought, sliding Oathkeeper into its sheath and setting it on the table. “Joffrey was your—”

“My king. Leave it at that.”

She persisted, taking a step closer to Jaime. “You say Sansa killed him. Why protect her?”

She could see the gears turning in his mind, working and working and working. _What goes on behind those green eyes of yours, Jaime? Who hurt you to make you build these walls?_ “I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” He attempted to smile but it came out as a grimace. “Besides, kingslayers should stick together.”

She stiffened, a pang of hurt echoing inside her chest. “You know I didn’t kill Renly, Ser Jaime.” She felt her chin trembling but she couldn’t stop it. Brienne took a risk. “Please don’t shut me out again. Don’t put up your walls again, Jaime, I want to help you.”

“My walls? Wench, there are no walls between us.” He fixed her with a sharp gaze. “I’m an open book. And I don’t require help with anything.”

Brienne took a breath to calm herself. “Why are you truly asking me to protect Sansa Stark?”

Jaime sighed heavily, turning away from her and pacing a bit before turning back. “Because Joffrey deserved to...he...he was not a good person. He deserved to...die. The gods returned to him what he gave out.” He looked sad and pained now. “Are you ever going to go?”

“Yes. But I...you never let me apologize.” She took a step toward him, and suddenly the distance between them seemed far smaller than what was likely appropriate. “I am sorry for assuming you wanted me to kill Sansa, but I...I only trust two men in my life, and one of them has a conflict of loyalty, so forgive me for thinking that—surrounded by lions as we are—you would resume being one. You never—you never visited me while I was detained, nor sent me a message telling me if or when I would be released. You are loyal to your house, as I am to mine, and I wasn’t sure if my trust was misplaced.”

They were both silent for a moment as Jaime soaked in her words, not meeting her eyes. The silence stretched and stretched until Brienne couldn’t take it anymore. “I should go,” she murmured, turning to the table to grab Oathkeeper, but his left hand shot out to grab her arm.

“No. Please. Stay.” She let him turn her so she was facing him again as he took a step toward her, effectively trapping her between him and the table. “I thought that once I came back to King’s Landing that everything would be alright.” He exhaled heavily. “Tyrion is set to die, Cersei and I have had a falling out, and Lord Tywin has disowned me. You seem to be the only person I can trust in this whole city, just as I appear to be for you.” He tilted his head, examining her. “Forgive me, Brienne. The stress of this position and the precarious situation within my family is taking its toll. I should not have been so terse.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” she managed, just barely meeting the intensity of his eyes. Brienne swallowed, heart in her throat. _I should leave...yet he has now asked me to stay._ “We have both lost much, it seems.” She had not known Lady Catelyn for very long, but she supposed that she had become a maternal figure all the same. “You are an honorable man, Ser Jaime. All the more for tasking me with Sansa Stark’s safety. I did not expect to find that the man before me is but a piece of the golden lion of Lannister. I...much prefer this side of you. You seem much kinder than...”

“...my family.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and Brienne nodded. They were very close, she noticed. They were breathing the same pocket of air. A blush infused her cheeks as his green eyes roamed her face, lingering on her lips. “Nothing is as I thought it was. Not me, not you, nothing. But perhaps that isn’t so terrible after all.”

She looked at his lips. _They’re very kissable,_ she thought, and then, as if the gods heard her, his lips were on hers. Brienne braced herself on the table with her hands, stunned; Jaime pulled away after a moment, his eyes baring his soul to her. “Jaime—” but he was kissing her again already. Something in her eyes must have asked him to kiss her again faster than she could have with words, and this time his lips were more insistent. Brienne found Jaime’s hand wandering along her arm and shuddered at the heady feel of it through the fabric of her dress. “Jaime,” she murmured into his mouth, but he stole her words with those perfectly kissable lips of his.

“Brienne,” he whispered back before his tongue probed her mouth, exploring until he started dueling her own. His hand and stump suddenly wrapped around her thighs to lift her onto the table, his hand knocking Oathkeeper to the floor. “Tell me you locked the door,” he asked into her mouth, and Brienne nodded, hands fumbling with the clasps of his white cloak.

Jaime gazed at her as the cloak fell to the floor and she moved on to the other straps of his armor, letting each piece fall to the floor. Before long, he was only in his simple white tunic and trousers. He stepped close to her again, guiding her legs to either side of his hips as he pushed up the skirt of her dress. He kissed Brienne again, gentle and heartfelt, letting her turn it into something passionate. She pulled away for air and gazed at Jaime with wide eyes.

“Why me?” she asked, breathing shallowly.

“I trust you.” He pressed his whole body against hers. “And I want you.” _But do you love me?_

“I cannot—I can not _do this_ if it doesn’t...if it doesn’t _mean_ something to you, Jaime. I know you trust me and... _want_ me—and I reciprocate—but this has to mean _more_ than that. I cannot give myself to you otherwise.” _Do you love me? Tell me you love me, Jaime. Please._ She searched his eyes, her own wide and vulnerable.

Jaime was silent for a long time, staring at her cheek, then neck, then shoulder, his eyes tumultuous. “Cersei...” He trailed off, his jaw working fiercely, and Brienne looked away from him, attempting to swallow down her emotions as tears pricked her eyes.

“I understand,” she choked out.

“No,” he insisted, cupping her cheek with his hand. “She only ever came to me when she needed something. That isn’t...that isn’t love.” He looked at her, eyes gentle and caring. “What we have...this is love.” Her breath caught in her throat as he hoarsely said, “I love you.”

Brienne pulled his face to hers and kissed him, laughing or sobbing—likely both—when they parted for air, and then they were still for a while, her arms draped over his shoulders as his hand danced along her back, drawing senseless patterns on the blue fabric of her dress. They breathed heavily, chests rising and falling in time as they breathed the same pocket of air, foreheads pressed together.

“I love you,” she whispered, as if it were a secret between the two of them. _I suppose it is._

She nudged Jaime with her nose before kissing him again, one hand winding its way into his short hair. His hand and stump soon resumed their journey up Brienne’s legs, taking the fabric of her dress with them until it pooled around her hips. Under her chemise, Jaime’s hand found the bare skin of her hip and he groaned, pressing his face into her chest above the bodice of her dress.

He inhaled as his fingers trailed their way along her skin, inching closer and closer to where she wanted him. “You smell nice. What scent?” He suckled a kiss to her collarbone before pressing gentler ones to her scars from the bear pit.

Brienne knew she was blushing furiously, both from the touch of his lips and his fingers. “I’m not sure. Septa Donyse...” She trailed off as his fingers ghosted along the crease of her thigh where it joined her abdomen and swallowed. “She talked to me a bit as she dressed me and then dabbed perfume on me.”

“I shall have to send her my thanks,” Jaime said into the sensitive skin between her ear and jaw. “It smells of sea-salt. I assume she used this one because of your island home.” His eyes were bright when he took her lips with his as she cupped his cheek.

His wandering hand suddenly withdrew from its journey down from her navel. “Jaime...?” she questioned, frustrated that his hand wasn’t touching her where he _should_ have been touching her. He reached around behind her to pull at the strings of her bodice.

It took a lot of maneuvering and fiddling to undo them all, but eventually, Brienne lifted her cheek from his head, which had come to rest on her shoulder to muffle his laughs; she’d had the same intent. Jaime stood up to look Brienne in her eyes, his own glimmering mischievously as he undid the last lace of her bodice. They maintained heated eye contact as she fought her instinct to cover herself and look away when the blue fabric and chemise fell down her body to gather at her hips with her skirts. He swallowed heavily, dragging his gaze down her chest, and Brienne almost felt the moment when it fell on her breasts. She fought the instinct to cover herself again but closed her eyes.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Jaime lifted her chin with his hand and kissed her gently. “Open your eyes, Brienne,” he requested, so she did, and gazed into his green eyes as he traced her lips with his thumb.

He guided it across her jaw, skimmed his fingers along the unscarred side of her neck and chest, and finally made it to her breast. Jaime trailed only the pads of his fingers along the outward curve before cupping it, circling her nipple with his thumb. Brienne choked back a gasp, tangling her hands in his hair as he bent down to give attention to her other breast.

“ _Oh,_ Jaime...” she moaned, and all she could do was wrap her legs around him to pull him against where she was aching. Her quiet gasps filled the room as Jaime suckled on the stiff peak of her breast, pinching her other nipple.

He started moving against her exposed core, causing Brienne to whimper every time. He lavished her other breast before he started kissing his way down her abdomen, looking up at her when he reached her clothing. “May I taste you?” he asked, and she nodded, watching with bated breath as his face disappeared behind her dress.

All thinking ceased when Jaime’s tongue licked a path from her entrance to her hidden nub of pleasure, which made her jolt against his face. Brienne could feel his cocky smile against the skin of her thigh just before he nipped at it, hard enough that she was sure there would be a mark to remember this occasion by. She whimpered and bit her lip as he brought his fingers to her wetness and coated them in it. He inserted one finger inside her and she involuntarily clenched around it for a moment or two, leaning back on her arms for support against the pleasurable onslaught.

She’d heard the rare soldier in Renly’s army talk about using their fingers and mouths on camp followers to thank them, but those passing comments didn’t do it justice in the slightest. Brienne’s whole body was afire, and Jaime’s fingers were stroking the flames higher and higher, reaching the place inside her that made her moan and tremble. His name fell from her lips repeatedly until she shattered at the intense feeling of his lips and tongue on her nub. When she’d closed her eyes, she didn’t know, but she opened them to the sight of Jaime looking up at her with adoration, his lips quirked in a self-satisfied smile. She blushed profusely.

“I take it that you enjoyed me?” Jaime asked as he procured a handkerchief. Brienne nodded, watching with fascination as he cleaned himself off. When he was done, she reached down and cupped his cheek, nudging up to his feet. “You even taste of the sea.”

“Shut up,” Brienne murmured, pulling him in for a kiss by his tunic. She deftly undid the laces and pulled it over his head, pausing only for a moment before passionately attacking him again. Jaime groaned into her mouth, his fingers slipping through her hair until he was cupping her skull. “May I?” Her hands trailed down the hard planes of his chest, over the taut muscles of his abdomen, and down to the waistband of his trousers.

Jaime nodded once, and then Brienne’s nimble fingers were undoing the laces that hid the very last of him from view. “We don’t need to do... _that_ ,” he said, turning her gaze to his own. “There is so much we both have to do... If you would rather wait—see if we both make it through all this chaos—”

“I want you, if you’ll have me,” she told him, pressing their foreheads together as she pushed his trousers down and pulled him against her with a gasp.

“I do, Brienne. I do, I do, I do.” Jaime took himself in hand and positioned himself, capturing Brienne’s lips with his own as he slowly edged into her. “I love you.”

At some point in their joining, she was robbed of breath, only realizing when Jaime reminded her to breathe. All she smelled was him, all she saw was him, all she heard was him, and all she felt was him—around her, inside her, setting her on fire from the inside out. “Jaime,” she managed, a plea for him to move.

So he did.

Slowly at first, groaning as he stole Brienne’s breath again, his cock touching the place inside her that made her burn. “Don’t stop, Jaime, don’t stop,” she found herself murmuring as he thrust into her, a little faster now.

He murmured a response against her lips: “I won’t. I’ll never stop. _Gods,_ Brienne, you’re so tight.” An undignified whine slipped past her lips, but it only served to make Jaime snap his hips against hers roughly, tearing a choked gasp from her throat.

He gripped her thighs so tightly she was sure to bruise, but the pain grounded her, his hands searing into her skin. _Faster, faster, faster,_ Brienne thought, but she must’ve voiced it aloud because he _did._ He moved against her relentlessly, his lips haphazardly trailing from her jaw to her neck to her scars once more. She felt like to burst into flames at any moment, her whole body going tense like a bow before an arrow was loosed, and then she was there, crying out his name.

Brienne came back to the sight of Jaime, sweaty and well-fucked, nuzzling the unscarred side of her neck and chest, having spent himself within her. She sat up and reached out to his face, pushing back a lock of his golden hair; he captured her hand with his own and pressed a kiss to her wrist before pulling out of her. Brienne sighed wistfully at the bereavement, straightening her skirts as Jaime pulled up his trousers. Silently, they helped each other to dress, the air thick with unspoken sentiments.

Bodice laced up and skirts flowing, Brienne took a few steps to the door before turning around. The sight of Jaime watching her wistfully, her bright golden knight in shining armor, rendered her speechless. He swallowed, and she gripped Oathkeeper in its sheath more firmly. “I will find Lady Sansa; for Lady Catelyn and for you, Jaime.” She paused. “I love you.”

He smiled, eyes misty. “I love you, too.” Jaime grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, a farewell kiss.


End file.
